


leaving a trace

by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Future Fic, Gen, Getting Together, M/M, Postcards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 17:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11674209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/triggeringthehealing
Summary: There’s a small pile of them just past the main door of the building, barely out of reach of the elements and the strays — human or otherwise. Each one addressed the same, the handwriting belonging to one person though it varies a little from one card to the next.





	leaving a trace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Fandom Writing Challenge](http://fandomwritingchallenge.tumblr.com) on tumblr. July prompt: postcard
> 
> Now with a translation into Russian that can be found [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6033103), by the lovely [leisyx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leisyx/pseuds/leisyx)

✉  _ Nasty hag attack here, looks almost as nasty as any of the Alphas. Had a pint of beer for you. S. _

✉  _ Hi! Greetings from— wait, it says that on the front. I get why you guys were in New York before. It’s big. Wonder if I could get lost here. S. _

✉  _ Couldn’t resist the wolf on the postcard. Had to happen on the first field case. Hope you’re well. S. _

✉  _ This job means a fuckton of travel. Not a complaint, really. Just gets a bit lonely. S. _

✉  _ Where do postcards go if they can’t be delivered? Hopefully this one will, Canadian wolves are savage, I’d love if you got to see the photo. S. _

✉ ✉ ✉ ✉ ✉

There’s a small pile of them just past the main door of the building, barely out of reach of the elements  _ and _ the strays — human or otherwise. Each one addressed the same, the handwriting belonging to one person though it varies a little from one card to the next. Some look scribbled on in a rush, a few even written with odd instruments — there’s one in crayon, another has fountain pen smudges. 

Derek almost doesn’t spot them, but one of them  _ glows in the dark _ , and when he arrives at the loft, it happens to be in the middle of the night. So — not without hesitation — he picks the pile up, and tosses it carelessly on the coffee table that’s covered with a layer of dust. It’s not surprising, because it’s been years since he was back, though he has managed to pay everything that he needed to in order to keep ownership of the building. 

It’s another few days later before he sits down long enough to pick up the postcards again, and to give them a more thorough look. He’s since sorted out all the other post that was dumped there with the cards, so there are no distractions in the form of bills or anything else. Again, he only does pick them up because it’s late at night and the one that glows is peeking out from the middle of the pile. 

They don’t seem connected, not when he first starts checking them, save for the same signature on every one of them. And that really wouldn’t tell anyone else enough, but it does tell him the important bit. 

_ S _ .

None of them are signed with a full name, just the initial. The messy scrawl differs between the cards too — a few are neat and legible, obviously written with time to spare; the ones that are messier look like the sender barely had time to write them. 

Derek wonders about that while he looks the cards over. He knows that Stiles — because it took barely a beat to realise who the postcards were from — went across country to study and to later join the FBI. When there’s a card from Washington and it’s one of the ones written nicely, Derek starts thinking about the order. 

✉  _ It’s a whole different world out here. Hope wherever you are is just as distant from where this card is going. S. _

The date stamps help him organise the postcards, and he puts them into a tidy pile on the coffee table before he picks up the Washington DC one again. The next few are all from the east of the country, and most of them have taken time to write judging by the handwriting. But there is one that’s scribbled clearly in a rush. 

✉ _ If the cards stop coming, this case is to blame. Fucking wendigos. S. _

Derek freezes at first, and then lets out a relieved breath when he realizes that it’s not the last postcard in the pile. The next one is written clearly, but he can see the way the handwriting it was weak and a little shaky. 

✉ _ There are never postcards with hospitals on them. Guess it’d be too depressing. S. PS: I’m okay, just a flesh wound. Because wendigo.  _

When Derek finally reaches for the last card, it’s hours later and the sun is starting to come up and shine through the windows. He’s hesitant to read it, partly because there are no more and partly because he’s afraid to look at the date on it. The ones he already looked at were almost evenly spaced out over the past few years, but the card he just put down is from almost a year ago. His curiosity is stronger than his reluctance to finish reading through the pile. 

He looks at the familiar image of the Golden Gate, and something in his stomach skips when he realises how  _ close _ Stiles apparently was when he sent this. Then he very carefully flips the postcard, and his eyes fall immediately on the signature, which isn’t the same as on all the others.

_ Stiles. _

Derek’s eyes widen, and he looks up at the text, and he reads over it fast, then again to make sure that he’s reading it right. 

✉ _ It almost feels like home, but it’s not. Way less drama and way less you. Come see the city sometimes? Stiles. _

An hour later, Derek is on the road, and driving to San Francisco. He doesn’t have an address, but the final postcard was from a month ago, and the scent was still strong. Almost like Stiles made sure it would be, no matter how much time has passed. 

✉ ✉ ✉ ✉ ✉

He finds Stiles near the bridge, after a day of running circles around the city, tracking his scent. 

“You knew I was here,” Derek says, almost accusingly. 

Stiles smirks when he looks up from the bench. 

“Supernatural division,” he says. “We know how to track people down.”

“Not as reassuring as you probably think it is,” Derek tells him as he sits down. 

“Found you, didn’t I?” 

“Did you know I was coming back to the loft?” 

Stiles nods. 

“I wasn’t sure, but there was intel that you were heading this way. I guessed that you’d at least stop by,” he says. “Everyone else thought you’d stay away from town, but… I took a chance.” 

They sit in silence for a while, and Derek wonders what to do next. He knows he should probably worry about being tracked by Stiles’s division, but it’s not new information, Derek just hoped that he managed to stay off radar. It’s not surprising either that Stiles knew where he was. 

As he thinks about it, Derek realises that he doesn’t see it as a bad thing. Quite the opposite, if he’s entirely honest with himself. 

“So, are you here for long?” 

Stiles looks at him with a soft smile.

“Division is setting up an office here,” he says. “Something about our Nemeton still being a draw for the supernatural. I’m sticking around to lead. Keeps me closer to Dad and Scott. I’ll still have field work, but for the most part, I’ll be around.” 

“Want to get dinner sometime?” Derek asks, not thinking about it twice. 

Stiles’s eyes widen in surprise, but the smile stays on as he nods.

“I’d love to. But to clarify, do you mean dinner to catch up?” 

Derek pauses and thinks, then looks Stiles in the eyes. 

“If that’s all that you want, yes. But if you’d be interested in a date, that’s okay too,” he tells him, and then he holds his breath for a beat. 

“Oh fuck yes, date totally works for me,” Stiles says and he chuckles when Derek lets out a relieved breath. “Tonight work for you?” 

Derek laughs and nods.

“Tonight is perfect. Now, do I need to track you down again, or can I have your number? None of your cards had it.”

Stiles grins.

“Now now, what kind of agent would I be if I let myself be tracked via postcards?” 

Derek raises an eyebrow at him, hoping Stiles will realise that it’s a hint at how Derek did track him to the bridge. 

“We don’t have protocol against your kind of tracking, humans don’t have super sniffers,” Stiles says. “Maybe we should stick to that.” 

Derek knows he looks unimpressed when Stiles laughs out loud. 

“Fine fine, do you even have a phone?” Stiles asks, and Derek rolls his eyes as he pulls it out of his pocket. 

Stiles rattles off his phone number, and then he stands up. 

“Okay, I have to head back in. See you later?” 

Derek nods, and then he watches as Stiles walks away. It doesn’t feel like a goodbye this time, it feels like a new beginning. He had no plans to stick around California for too long, but with a date to look forward to, Derek knows that he has a reason to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://froggydarren.tumblr.com/) || [my sterek fic tumblr](http://triggeringthehealing.tumblr.com/)


End file.
